


3 AM

by Arumattie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Genderbending, Miqo'te, Modern Royalty AU, Multi, PWP, Self-cest, Spoilers, harem au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arumattie/pseuds/Arumattie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of FFXIV drabbles, typically written at very strange hours of the morning. This work will feature a variety of pairings and ratings; tags and such will be added as appropriate.</p>
<p>A more descriptive table of contents can be found in chapter one, if you are interested in something in particular!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Chapter Two**  
_Pairing:_ Haurchefant/Warrior of Light (m/m)  
_Rating:_ Teen  
_Tags/Warnings:_ Fluff

**Chapter Three**  
_Pairing:_ Player Character/Player Character (m/m)  
_Rating:_ Explicit  
_Tags/Warnings:_ PWP, harem AU

**Chapter Four**  
_Pairing:_ Player Character/Player Character (m/m)  
_Rating:_ Mature  
_Tags/Warnings:_ Harem AU

**Chapter Five**  
_Pairing:_ Fray/Warrior of Light (?/?)  
_Rating:_ Mature  
_Tags/Warnings:_ Spoilers for the level 50 dark knight quest, alcohol use, self-cest

**Chapter Six**  
_Pairing:_ Haurchefant/Warrior of Light (m/?)  
_Rating:_ General Audiences  
_Tags/Warnings:_ Spoilers for the level 50 dark knight quest, fluff

**Chapter Seven**  
_Pairing:_ Aymeric/Haurchefant (m/m)  
_Rating:_ Explicit  
_Tags/Warnings:_ PWP, modern royalty au

**Chapter Eight**  
_Pairing:_ Aymeric/Lucia (m/f)  
_Rating:_ General Audiences  
_Tags/Warnings:_ Spoilers for Heavensward, genderbend


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herodotus is my good friend's player character, not an alt of mine. Thank you for letting me borrow him, my dear enabler! ♥

A gentle hand settled on his forehead, brushing aside stray hairs, and without even thinking about it, Herodotus leaned into the touch, a small smile curing his lips. He was pleasantly sore from the night before, his movements to edge closer to Haurchefant eliciting a little hum of pleasure as he remembered their activities--silken sheets sliding easily over bare skin. 

Haurchefant greeted him (properly) with a kiss, a gentle press of lips to lips, and produced a hot cup of cocoa from the bedside table. When Herodotus sat up, he pressed it into his hands. 

"To give you energy, dearest," he said, a playful twinkle in his eyes and a knowing smile on his lips. 

Energy, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Knees rubbed raw. Cum smeared over his belly. Love bites decorating his neck and chest. Bright blue eyes highlighted by kohl.

That _damned_ pink tongue swiping across kissed-red lips.

Herodotus was hard pressed to think of anything more _beautiful_ than the creature he had spread out before him. He was a man who held more power in his hands than most could even _dream_ of, but at this moment in time, all he wanted was this particular individual in bed, against the wall, on the floor. It mattered not the location or the position; Herodotus wanted him, _would_ have him. He would have this individual understand that he was _his_ and _his_ alone.

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

The word repeated in his head over and over as he thrust into that pliant body, earning himself breathy moans and quiet sighs. Again and again, he drove his hips forward until he too reached completion, and the pretty thing _purred_ , looking at him through half-lidded eyes as if _he_ were the prince and not the concubine.

"What is your name?" Herodotus asked.

That long tail flicked in... Pleasure? Amusement? Herodotus could not be sure, but he wished he knew.

"Amh'tan, Your Royal Highness." Those pretty lips quirked into a coy smile. "At your service."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of chapter three!

He'd had worse. Oh, he had _definitely_ had worse. 

Still high from his own orgasm, Amh'tan continued to feed his new master little sounds of pleasure; they tended to like that sort of thing--things that stroked their ego and made them feel godlike in bed. The difference this time, though, was that he didn't have to pretend, not much at least. This master had been kind to him--had tried to both give and take. It helped, too, that he was so damn easy on the eyes. 

Especially when he came. 

Amh'tan purred as he felt his master climax, a feeling of warmth filling him up. He almost chuckled at the question that followed, but he managed to bottle it up, his amusement only noticeable in the slight flick of his tail. 

"Amh'tan, Your Royal Highness. At your service," he replied, letting a coy smile pull at his lips. 

He didn't have a full read on this master yet, didn't know if this was the personality that would make him like him more. The prince didn't seem like the sort to hit his concubines, but one never knew...

Amh'tan would stick to the tried and true method of keeping out of trouble: keep the master happy. Whatever the prince wanted him to be, he would become it, and perhaps this time, his story would have a happier ending.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains major spoilers for the level 50 dark knight quest. o/

There are days when you curse yourself for stepping outside your door--for choosing to become an adventurer. You had never asked to be blessed by Hydaelyn, never asked to become the Warrior of Light. All you had ever wanted out of adventuring was an honest profession and a little excitement in your life. A bit of fame and glory, perhaps, was to be expected if all had gone well, but this damn _weight_ that has become synonymous with your title now-- _this_ is not what you had expected.

And still-- _still_ \--they push you. Day in and day out, if there isn't a primal stirring up trouble, then someone is invading one of the city states. And when all else fails? The common folk take their turn to use and abuse you. You have hurt. You have bled. You have lost. You have suffered for the people of Eorzea, and still, they demand more.

Usually, you smile and bear it, never quite willing to tarnish the mantle of hero that has been thrust upon you, but today... Today is not one of those days.

You've schooled your face into a neutral expression as another inane request has been made of you, and while you've taken it on, you have insisted that you have a moment of reprieve before heading off--just an evening to prepare for the journey across the bloody continent. Again. Your "allies" cheerfully wave you off, and you escape to the Forgotten Knight, first to drown yourself in the strongest liquor they carry and then to a private room for the night.

If anyone says anything about the Warrior of Light getting shitfaced, they do it out of earshot.

Your room, when you retreat to it, is far from empty. The second you open that door, you find Fray seated on your bed, smirking at you and eyes dancing with delight.

"You called?" You don't say anything; you don't have to. Fray's smile spreads wider, and your other self rises, steps closer. "Need someone to lash out at?" And you do-- _oh, you do_. You swing at your other self, your fist connecting with a forearm as Fray blocks your attack, and it dissolves into a scuffle from there. Fists, elbows, knees, feet, teeth--lips. _Oh._

You kiss like you're drowning because, in a way, you are--suffocating from all the idiotic demands being made of you when there's bigger shit to take care of. The breaths you share in that small space are harsh and rough, snarling and vicious. There's no gentleness and no finesse with the way you tear at each other's clothes and armor; there's nothing but a raw, desperate _need_ to take and take and take. After all, that's all that you've been submitted to since you became the hero of Eorzea. You leave red, angry marks on each other with mouths and hands; you leave each other gasping for air and skin slick with sweat as you both come down from your highs--your mind finally, _finally_ blank.

And when you wake? Fray is gone, and you wonder if it'd all been in your head: delusions of an exhausted and inebriated mind. You wonder this, but as the sheet slips to your waist, they're still there: bite marks, scratch marks--all too fresh and real.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, spoilers for the level 50 dark knight quest.

You wanted to believe their reassurances, that they truly believed in your sanity, but you could see the fear in their eyes. Where their laughter had once been genuine, it was awkward and stilted--all too forced. There would be the slightest tremble in their hands, a certain _brittleness_ in their smiles, when they saw you. Oh, you were still their savior, but they feared you now.

A part of you relished that fact. (You knew better than to deny it.)

You had always understood that there was a part of you that didn't quite appreciate the yoke that had been thrust upon you, but it had never been your intention to let people know; it was to be your secret--tucked away all too safely in the back of your mind. This slaughter at the hands of your other self was never something you would have ever done (that's what you keep telling yourself at least but _oh_ , how they had tried your patience), and while some would say that you already had so much blood on your hands that it shouldn't matter, a part of you still burned with anger and shame at what had happened. 

Drillemonte had given you a room to rest in, and while he had gone on (and on and _on_ ) about the peace and seclusion of the location, you couldn't help but wonder if it were on purpose: you were far and away from any other victims you might want to maul and maim, safely removed in a lonesome tower farthest from the barracks--like a beast in a cage. You were the pet that slipped off the leash and bit the owner; you couldn't be controlled any longer.

Head braced in your hands, you let a rattling breath slip past your lips, tried to remind yourself that the worst was past. You held the reins now (shakily, oh so shakily); you could dance that knife's edge--you _had_ to. Saviors, pressed though they might be, did not go about slaughtering their allies. If you were to continue being the Warrior of Light (to continue being the one who could save this damned realm), then you would see it done, come hell or high water. 

A smart knock on the door shook you out of your wallowing, and before you could even respond, it was thrown open to reveal Haurechefant, out of breath and looking decidedly wind-blown. Eyes wide with surprise, you stared, wondering why the man was even here. The last you had seen of him had been in Ishgard with his father, so why--

"My friend! I heard what had happened. Are you hurt?"

There was not a single note of fear in the man's voice and no faltering in his long strides as he entered the room; genuine concern was the only emotion you could find in his countenance. You opened your mouth to speak, but when no words came forth, Haurchefant crossed what distance remained and took a seat beside you on the bed, one arm circling your shoulders and pulling you close. It was, perhaps, a _touch_ unpleasant given the chill of his armor that seeped even through the layers of cloth your wore, but the comfort that the man exuded was tangible--well outweighing any displeasure you might have originally felt.

The knot in your chest loosened, and your breathing came more easily-- _in and out, in and out_ ; the tempest in your mind cleared.

Haurchefant spoke softly to you, telling you of how the news had been received in Ishgard: of how his father and the Lord Commmander had done their best to soften the blow to the Archbishop, of how Alphinaud and Tataru sought to keep the masses calm. His voice was a pleasant drone in your ear, and you nodded--though, it was becoming more difficult to determine whether it was in agreement or out of exhaustion. The day's events had taken a heavy toll on you: physically, emotionally, and mentally, and your body and mind had come to collect its dues. Try as you might, your eyes grew heavier and heavier until at last they slid shut.

As your consciousness gave way to sleep, you thought you felt the faintest press of lips against your forehead and a gentle whispering of two words: good night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, this might have more... explanation and backstory, but for now, it just stays bottled up in my head. D8

"My father will have your head for this, you know."

Haurchefant smirked and simply pulled harder on the tie in his hand, crushing and ruining the fine silk. He pressed a kiss to Aymeric's jaw line, relishing the slight shiver that shook the man. "I have a feeling that you'll have mine if I..." His other hand paused mid-stroke, fingers still curled tightly around Aymeric's cock. "...stop."

The prince made a decidedly undignified sound, voice catching in his throat, and he tried (oh, he _tried_ ) to pull himself together. Haurchefant couldn't help but chuckle a bit before taking pity on the man and resuming his previous task; he didn't exactly want to get thrown out of the room while Aymeric brought himself to completion behind closed doors. 

No, no... That wouldn't do at all, especially when his own arousal was tenting (and more than likely dirtying) the pair of slacks he wore. Haurchefant wanted to see this to the end. 

So, he quickened his pace and tightened the curl of his fingers, using the breathy sounds Aymeric made and the way his hands clenched against his shoulders to judge how he was faring. Indeed, the prince's grip was bordering on painful when Aymeric leaned forward and demanded a kiss, groaning in need when Haurchefant parted his lips to offer him access. 

And that, apparently, was all it took to send Aymeric over the edge. 

The prince came with a soft moan, creating a sticky mess between them, but for the moment, neither of them cared. Aymeric rested his forehead against Haurchefant's shoulder, drawing in deep breaths as he tried to piece himself back together; Haurchefant simply rubbed slow circles into his back with his clean hand, his calmness belying his own arousal. 

Not that Aymeric would keep him waiting for long. 

Soft lips pressed against his throat as long fingers curled surely around his aching cock, the fabric of his pants dreadfully uncomfortable against sensitive skin. "Let's take care of this, shall we?" Aymeric asked, voice low and rough. "We've other matters to attend to."

And what else could Haurchefant say other than, " _Yes_."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RL is making writing difficult atm. D8
> 
> This drabble was inspired by [this fanart](http://shinjyu.tumblr.com/post/130105350856), drawn by Shinjyu on tumblr! Contains spoilers up to the Vault in the Heavensward storyline.

His first memories of her were in the rumors that had swirled around the city upon his arrival: the new Lady Commander who came from... a rather questionable background. Whispers regarding her birth were quite the hot topic, and one hardly had to try to understand how much the people of Ishgard frowned upon her lowly birth. Did that matter to him? Not particularly. Lucius was here on behalf of the Empire, and he cared not whether he spied on the rich or the poor, man or woman--he'd ply his trade easily on anyone. Indeed, there was even a part of him that thought her gender could be a tool he could use to his advantage, even if his sister proved that women could be far deadlier than any men. All the same, Lucius kept the thought to himself as he joined the ranks of the Temple Knights.

The first time he saw her, she was seated behind that grand desk of hers and surrounded by papers. She was a delicate looking thing with raven-black hair and fair skin, but when those blue eyes of hers caught his own, Lucius knew immediately that _this_ was not an individual to be taken lightly. There was a strength of resolve there that was echoed in her tone of voice and how she carried herself; clearly, Lady Aymerin had mastered herself and was above all of the torrid gossip regarding her history. Though, he was careful not to show it, he could not help but feel respect toward her--respect that only grew when he saw how well she handled herself on the battlefield.

Lucius could not help but think that even his sister would have trouble with this one in a fight.

But he was not here to think of the similarities and differences between Livia and Lady Aymerin. There was work to be done, and loyal spy that he was, Lucius slowly but surely rose in rank, sifting through Ishgard's secrets all the while and always, _always_ keeping his eye upon the Lady Aymerin. His correspondences to his own commanding officers started off as frequent but decidedly lacking in anything of worth, and as time passed, he noticed that his letters to the Empire grew ever fewer but the content remained as vague as ever. Indeed, it was with a sense of amused resignation that Lucius came to accept the fact that he respected the Lady Aymerin far more than he had anyone back home. She spoke with such conviction and such _hope_ for Ishgard, that he could not help but be caught in her thrall; _she_ was the leader that he had spent his entire life seeking, that he had always wanted to serve.

So it was on bended knee that he presented himself to her and told her the truth of his allegiances--admitted to his wrongdoings against the Holy See.

He remembered the silence between them after he had spoken, remembered fearing that he'd be cast out by this woman he had come to admire; he remembered how she had listened to him without a word and without a look to betray her thoughts. Lucius had lowered his head in the face of her judgement, but then she come toward him and knelt _beside_ him, a rare but beautiful smile upon her lips. Lady Aymerin had said her thanks, then pulled him back to his feet, and it was at that moment that Lucius had to admit that, perhaps, he felt a little more than mere _respect_ for this woman.

Since that day, Lucius had served her, a loyal shadow at her side. She was a person of vision, and he relished the times that they would spend alone in her office, trying to bring her dreams to life. Lady Aymerin spoke of an Ishgard reunited with the rest of Eorzea; she spoke of an Ishgard free of the Dragonsong War; she spoke of an Ishgard that knew the truth of its own history. The theocracy would have her head for this sort of talk, but with each passing day, her fervor grew until she could stand the lies no more.

He remembered watching her march out of Fortemps Manor with her chin held high to speak with her father; he remembered his chest tightening in worry as the door shut behind her--worry that was all too well founded.

Lucius had bled for his Lady Aymerin before, had been her sword and shield on more than one battlefield. (Not that she had needed his aid, with her blade--both literal and proverbial--cutting wide swathes into the ranks of those who would oppose her will.) He had given up his homeland once for this woman, and here again, he stood on the precipice of repeating that act and turning his back upon Ishgard.

Or perhaps-- _perhaps_ one could argue his home was no longer a place but a person: a person with raven-black hair and fair skin, a person worth following to the very end.

Indeed, she was a person who had captured his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a suggestion for a drabble? Feel free to share! No promises on anything, but plot bunnies are always delicious.


End file.
